Braided Lies, Knotted Truth
by goldnox
Summary: Two-Shot: Damon takes humanity-free Elena to NY after 4x15, needing a change of scenery and trying to handle an out-of-control baby vampire. He's searching for the strength to keep the fragile strands of their relationship together, while she hunts blood. But sometimes, even when you don't find what you were looking for, it's just what you need. / Delena
1. Braided Lies

**A/N: Hello darlings! Okay, so this is part 1 of a 2 shot in which Damon and Elena go to NY. Part 2 will be posted asap, and this will all be a reality I would prefer to take place, because who knows what the show will actually give us in the end. I started writing this before 4x16 aired, so for the purpose of this story the sire bond is still intact even without her humanity. **

**Please check out the playlist that accompanies, some dubstep (techno) background for you guys to enjoy along with it. It's a little...different, kinda like me ;). It is a full album runthru from Celldweller, the album Wish Upon A Black Star. Enjoy!**

**/watch?v=Zm3wMB0KjQ4**

**Huge thanks to Trogdor19 for beta'ing with love and enthusiasm, and one hell of a sharp eye. *High five***

**Explicit Warning: presence of (slight) physical violence and quick description of anal play.**

* * *

**DAMON POV**

* * *

_**Braided Lies**_

Never in my life have I wanted to shave a woman's head like I do right now.

I don't even know why I'm still standing here, arms crossed in irritation while I lean up against the doorframe and watch her do her hair. It's not like she needs my help, or even wants my presence. But I'm still here, staring like the masochist I am.

I should go wait in the living room of the suite I rented for us. Anything worth doing is worth doing right, and I prefer the penthouse. Thought she might too. The view, the simple elegance, the sprawling space, all for the ridiculously high price of I-don't-give-a-fuck-if-maybe-she'll-smile.

She didn't. She didn't care. We could have stayed in some cockroach-infested dump like we did in Denver and I don't think she would have batted an eyelash. Little Miss "Whatever, Damon" strolled in, looked around, shrugged her shoulders as if she could deign to stay here, then stripped.

She keeps getting naked. It's like living with a fucking toddler.

Apparently Elena on "off" equals Elena undressed. Reason number I-lost-count for why I insisted on getting us out of Mystic Falls for the weekend. I get the nudity; the lack of inhibitions coupled with being uncomfortable because she's been wearing Caroline's clothes since she burned all of hers and they don't fit her quite right. Too tight in the hips and straining in the bust. Caroline doesn't have near the curves Elena does.

And a year ago I would have been ecstatic that I couldn't keep her dressed, but now, I don't want to see it. Just another neon sign shouting "Look how you fucked her up."

I needed to get her out of that house and away from my brother who wouldn't stop staring. It's nothing he hasn't seen before, and more often than I have, but I don't want him looking at her like that. Not when she wouldn't want him to if she could feel anything other than eat, sleep, fuck. Wash, rinse, repeat.

She's going to have to confront everything she's done and said and showed to the shocked world once I flip her back on, and I'm trying not to add more to the list of horrors that I made her run from. This is my mess, and I'm going to clean it up. He doesn't need to watch her use me like a vibrator with a credit card.

I absolutely can't handle him looking at me with those pitying green eyes that cry his understanding of how I knowingly silenced her misguided love for me, while at the same time not-so-secretly wishing it was him she wanted to use instead. Fuck him. He couldn't handle her like this anyways.

That, plus she kept trying to eat the locals, and I was starting to get a headache from all the damn compulsion I was having to do. It's been a bitch trying to keep her neighbors and friends and teachers from realizing that no, they didn't just get thrown up against a wall and get their throat chewed on by Little Orphan Gilbert. They really are just clumsy as all fuck and kept falling down and bumping into shit, which is why they're covered in bruises on their arms and chests and necks and faces. I healed them where she punctured them, but bruises show for a bit. Nothing I can do about that.

So I loaded her in my car and drove us the fuck away.

Now I'm standing in a masterpiece of a bathroom where all I _should_ want to do is take a bath with my girl and forget that life irrevocably sucks, coat her skin with vanilla-flavored bubbles and lick them off. But I'm not.

And I'm _not_ nailing her into the mattress in the next room like she wanted me to after we first got here. Baby vampires throw quite impressive hissy fits when refused, and I don't know if what I'm going to pay for that lamp was worth it, but that's what I'm telling myself.

I have every right to say no because I'm not her fucking toy.

I'm not. So I'm fully clothed in the leather that I'm pretending is shielding the heart she's ripping out with dead eyes while I watch her braid her hair, and all I can think is that I wish I had some fucking scissors.

I hate braids.

She's got her hair pulled to the side and draped over her shoulder, and her fingers are twisting the strands with an assured ease that's making my stomach roll. All three sections, all under her command.

It took me a long time as a boy to understand how that shit worked because it looks like it should be two pieces, not three. Two even sections of brown hair woven together seamlessly, folded into one another like they were meant to belong. But it's not that simple.

There are three in there, wrapped around each other so fucking twisted that they're completely lost and you don't know who started out as what.

She crosses two and pulls one to the side, separating them as far as she can so she can tighten the plaits as far as it will allow; maximizing the distance between the two mates and unwanted third wheel. Then she does the same, but exchanging one side for another and rewinding the master center around the one that was left out before.

Switch, twist, and isolate. Two against one, over and over and over again.

Fuck braids.

The only one I've ever liked was the one she wore the day of the second Miss Mystic Falls pageant. Fish-tail they call it or some bullshit name like that. Who the fuck names a hairstyle after a smelly piece of guts that lives floating in its own waste? Disgusting.

But those are different. They're not the same as the aesthetic lies that she's weaving before me.

It is only two individual portions that make up that mess, and it's messy as all hell. I've been with enough women to see it done. Grab a little bit from the back of one section like a secret, and bring it around front, crossing over and tucking it away behind the other.

You share these secrets a little bit at a time, each small one repaid and balanced with another until they don't belong to you anymore. And when you do start to give them back, they're always a little bit different because you held them for so long. Strands pull, some layer others by mistake because you took too much or didn't give enough, and the color always changes a bit the further it goes down.

It takes time and patience, and it always gets a little off balance, a little disheveled. It's not perfect, but it's still beautiful, and it's not fucking three.

"You're staring," she says in the detached voice that I put there and hate more than my father's name.

"I'm bored. And since when do you braid your hair? This shit is taking forever and I want to get the fuck out of this room." So I can stop thinking about what we're _not_ doing and what _I'm not going to do_, no matter how much you beg me. Not doing it. "Thirty seconds and I'm out the damn door, Elena."

"So leave."

She cocks her head and her eyes are wide in the mirror, challenging me. She doesn't have a trace of belief that I'll actually do what I've threatened, and she's openly calling my bluff in the way she loves to do.

I'm fucked. She pulled this same shit after we found out about the sire bond and I tried to get her out of my bedroom the next morning. She didn't leave, at least not at my command. She's never done a fucking thing I tell her to, like lock her damn window or to stop trying to commit suicide all the time in the name of martyrdom that she doesn't understand and that doesn't work anyways.

I guess it's one hell of a bitch slap from fate that when she does finally respond to my wishes, it's the things I didn't mean to tell her and what I don't want to have to say.

It's not "don't hate yourself as a vampire because it's going to be fine and I'm going to make sure it is, or die trying."

It's "almost kill yourself from starvation because I'm too selfish to even _consider_ how you may want to live your life" and "forget that you have a conscience and a soul, and that for a minute you thought you loved me."

I don't even want to talk to her anymore. Words are too dangerous.

But she won't let me stay silent and she didn't that morning either. She knew how I felt no matter what I tried and failed to make myself say.

When she eventually did leave my room, I followed, just like she asked.

Yep, I'm totally fucked.

"Just hurry up," I snap at her and storm from the bathroom, forfeiting any control I had over that non-conversation as I push off the doorframe.

I'm pacing like a whipped tool while I wait for her, and I swear to God and the Devil she's taking extra-long just to piss me off because she knows I'm itching out of my skin to get her away from bed sheets. I'm sure she thinks that if she pushes me enough I'll snap and either bite her or fuck her or both, and that's exactly what she wants. It wouldn't be the first time.

Well she can fuck off and hold the breath she doesn't need because I'm not doing it. I'm going to sit down like a man and not a pussy, lazily tapping my fingers on the French satin armrest. And when she does finally get her shit together, I'm going to make her wait while I don't do a damn thing but sit here because I fucking can and this is my damn life.

I don't bow to some 18 year old puppet master with braids.

I'll pull my own damn strings thank you, and I'm going to rest my ankle on my knee and look calm and collected and unfazed while I recite the Odyssey to myself. In Farsi.

My back is to the door of the bathroom I ran from, and I hear her before I see her.

"I'm ready," she sighs, sounding bored and waiting for me to leap at her words.

My eyes narrow as I start my internal "fuck you" via monotonous, silent recitation, but I don't get past the first stanza and I've forgotten why forty-five seconds ago I was ready to order room service just so I could kill the poor fuck they would send up here.

She's standing in front of me with her hands on her hips and wearing ill-fitting jeans, looking at me like she knows what I'm doing and wants to call me the childish prick I am. Her raised eyebrow, pursed lips and the sarcastically-slight shaking of her head are screaming the words, her ponytail waving out from behind her.

Fuck.

I didn't mean she had to change her hair or abandon the braid that I wanted to cut off, but apparently I can't even ask a passive-aggressive question without it being taken as an order thanks to that damn sire bond and her being able to read me like a book. I shouldn't have said anything. The singularity of her ponytail and all its alone-ness may be worse than three hopeless fucks wrapped around each other.

I shouldn't be getting so pissed off at her over shit this stupid. None of this is her fault and she doesn't know any better. She didn't want to be a vampire, she didn't want her brother involved in this life, and she didn't ask me to make her flip her switch.

She can't control the basic instincts that I reduced her to, she only knows and wants what feels good to her. And apparently that totals a lot of blood and the free use of my body. She doesn't deserve to have me be an ass to her just because I can't handle the guilt.

It's not that I don't love her, or even want her, because I do. It's just that she's not here. Elena left, and the girl standing in front of me is nothing more than a glorified house sitter, just keeping the place running and tidy until the real owner comes back. I know good and God damn well it's not fair to fuck the hollowed version of her just because she looks the same on the outside, but I'm having a hard time explaining that to my cock.

The worst part? She'll know when she wakes back up.

She'll know that I used her body as something to cling to for my own selfish reasons because I'm falling apart without her warmth. That I was actually capable of screwing her and that I can still touch her skin without the parts behind it that make her different from Katherine, just because I need to feel her heartbeat race as she clenches me inside her. She'll know, and I'm sure she'll think it was easy for me to do.

She may even think I did it on purpose, like some masterful Machiavellian plan. Turn her, then switch her off so I can once again have access to the body of the woman I used to love. Katherine's face and tits and ass but with hands that actually hold me to her, can't break my neck, and that will do whatever the fuck I say.

I want to throw up. That's not what I want. I want Elena.

I want the girl that blushed after we had sex for the first time, like she couldn't believe she just let me do all the things I did, all the things that she begged me for. My corrupted ex-cheerleader blushed more still when she saw that I already knew the truth she seemed surprised to find. She still wanted more.

She's just like me in some ways. Loves too hard and too long, stubborn as hell and a temper to match. And not that she could have ever disappointed me, but I heard her blasé relationship with Stefan and I've never been happier to learn that with me, she fucks like a demon.

She doesn't like to talk about that first night, or any of the things we've done since. Not the way she sucks my cock like it holds the only thing she needs to survive, or how loud she screams when I bite her clit and stretch her with my fingers. She doesn't acknowledge that she likes it when I fuck her from behind so she can pretend to be surprised when I rub against her ass. Or how much she enjoys it when I fuck her there at her demand, quickly followed by her pleading for me to come inside her.

It's all still secrets, dark and dirty things that happen behind closed doors and drawn curtains and away from prying eyes and ears where she doesn't let fear or shame or guilt touch her. She doesn't want to talk about it in the daylight, just repeatedly practice it in my bed after the saints go to sleep.

I just wish she would blush again.

"Damon, I thought you wanted to leave," she scowls at me, crossing her arms impatiently.

God, I miss her.

Just a real smile, that's all I want. The one that transforms her whole face; when she can only stare at me for so long in floating giddiness before she has to look down, needlessly tucking her hair behind her ear because she's actually embarrassed that she's so fucking happy.

I'm not even stupid enough to ask for one of her laughs, I know I don't deserve it. But a smile, I'd do anything for.

"Let's go do some damage." I smile at her, but she doesn't return it.

I make myself stand and lead her from the room, guided by the light placement of my hand on the small of her back. I know it won't, it hasn't since she burned her house down, but I'm still crushed when her heart doesn't race when I touch her and we're not in bed.

I'll bring her back soon, I just have to hang on until then.

* * *

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" I hiss, enraged beyond belief and trying to remember why I love her. It's not because of shit like this.

"Nope, just hungry," she shrugs and giggles. I wish Pearl would've gouged my fucking eyes out when she had the chance. I don't want to see her in a bra with a broken strap from where the girl must have clawed at her, the blood of an innocent at the corner of her mouth.

"You cannot act like this, Elena. You cannot kill people in fucking dressing rooms at stores in the middle of the damn day in-"

"I didn't kill her, _master_," she sneers.

"Shut up, and don't fucking call me that. The only reason she's alive is because I ripped your ass off her and you know it."

"Hmpf," she shrugs and rolls her eyes, conceding and reaching for a top she discarded on top of the pile of clothes she was trying on, blatantly ignoring the blood streaks that are on the wall behind her. "So, what do you think?" She bats her eyelashes at me, shimmying her shoulders as she holds it in front of her.

I snatch it away from her and it rips in her clawed grasp.

"Damon! I liked that shirt…"

"You know what I would like, Elena?"

"No, what?" she beams at me without letting it reach her eyes, looking at me like she'll give me whatever it is I want. But that's only as long as what _I want_ is what _she wants_, and what she wants is to continue running a finger down the line of buttons on my shirt and trying to slip it under my belt.

_Not her fault_, I repeat to myself. _Clean up your own damn mess._

I take a deep breath and steel myself. I know she's only going to respond to one thing right now and I need her to listen to me.

She moves with me as I back her into the wall behind her with my eyes alone, her nipples already hard when she brushes them against me. I place my hands on either side or her head and lean into her exposed neck, a sigh escaping her lips when I kiss the vein she's offering.

"Elena," I say in the voice that makes her eyes hazy, letting my breath wash over her skin. She's grabbing my ass with one hand to pull my hips towards her, the other one raking up my back under my shirt. Yeah, I know exactly what she wants, and it's _not_ what I want.

"You know what I want, Elena?" I kiss under her jaw where it makes her shiver. The spots are all still the same, but it's only now, when it's _this_, does she ever respond to me like she should and used to and it makes my stomach lurch at all that I've lost.

"What?" she breathes back, hiking up one leg so it's hooked around my waist and fuck me, I catch it, gripping her behind the knee and massaging the back of her exposed thigh in a way that's only recently become familiar.

I bring my other hand down to caress her face, letting my fingertips ghost down from her hairline to her cheek where I can cup her jaw, sweeping my thumb over her lips. She wraps them around the end of my digit, kissing and teasing it with her tongue.

My cock leaps in response because it's stupid and immediately ceased all communication with my shouting brain as soon as it came near her, refusing to listen as it's being told in no uncertain terms not to get its hopes up because this is as far as I'm going.

I give her a single thrust and her eyes pop open to mine, exactly like I knew they would. Got her.

"What I want," I breathe into her mouth, kissing her once slow and deep and pulling a moan from the back of her throat before we separate and I re-catch her eyes. "Is for you to stop acting like you don't understand the difference between having a little fun…" I smile to goad her and she takes the bait, stealing another kiss from my lips.

I can tell she's surprised when she pulls back to find me glaring at her, face sharp with disappointment and fully showing my rage as I spit my words at her because I'm so over this shit. "_And being completely stupid and reckless." _

Her hands are immediately against my chest, veins and fangs bared as she hisses and shoves me with all her newbie strength, actually sending me back a few feet under the force of her fury.

I growl back towards her and her hand flies to strike, but I catch her wrist before she can touch me. I flex my hand, squeezing just enough to remind her that I'm still older and stronger and she really doesn't want to fuck with me today. I would never dream of hurting her, but she's testing some dangerous lines.

"Let go of me."

Her vampire aspect still hasn't receded, and her words are barely more than a snarl. Any human that heard her speak would be running and screaming in pure terror.

Fucking hell, if I wasn't so pissed off it would probably be turning me on, and that is a major problem between us. It doesn't bode well for a relationship when you totally get off on making the other one blindly livid.

"You gonna try that again?" I hiss, still holding her captive.

"Probably," she smirks and the fire that burns through my veins makes my hand flex a tiny bit more.

She hisses in pain as a bone snaps.

_Fuck! _

"Really, Damon?" she sneers, my anger fading instantly to guilt. "What's next? You gonna hit me when I don't behave like you want?"

I wince and drop her wrist. I shouldn't have let her get to me like this. I know better than to rise to her bullshit, and now I've really fucking done it.

Accidents happen when we train, continuing on with the Alaric's Guide to Self-Defense classes we started when she was human but with addition of Vampire 101. She's new and that's how she learns, and she knows how much it kills me when something happens because I'm always extremely cautious.

Sex is something else altogether, but that's still carefully controlled and never too much and always with her permission, fuck, _her request_. I gave her a safety word, something I've never done before and which she laughed at while promising me she knows she doesn't need it. She's right, she's never used it.

But I like knowing it's there to stop me just in case; it's too easy to get lost in the high of her blood and relish the screams of her orgasms. She knows exactly how to push me to the edge of control and how to reduce me to nothing more than driving carnal nature that aches for the fuck, the feed, and the kill.

But I've _never_ put my hands on her when we're arguing. I'll defend myself from her attacks if necessary, and I've restrained her before, but not since she was human. I don't even do that anymore because I try to keep my distance, knowing she has every capability to rile me past the point of self-restraint and the awareness of how fragile she still is. She's immortal, but even with my blood running through her veins she's still no match for me and never will be.

I know all this, and still…

I _hurt_ Elena.

But right now she's not feeling pain, she's not registering anything other than swelling domination at my retreat and it's just fueling her advance. She steps forward, challenging me, her wrist already healed and aching to strike again as she pokes me in the chest. Brave little girl.

"How convenient for you that I heal quickly. Tell me, how many chances do I get before you just stake me and finish it?"

"I would never hurt you, and you know that," I whisper forcefully, devastated that we've reached this point. Our arguments are usually violent, but broken tumblers and lamps and windows are one thing and I fucking know I went way too far, even though I didn't do it on purpose. It doesn't matter. She'll never forgive me for this, on or off.

Her resounding laugh is nothing short of mocking as she brandishes her wrist to me like its proof of my lies. Jesus Christ, it's still red and I know exactly where my fingers were crushing her because their outlines are still imprinted on her skin.

"Elena," I choke out, my stomach in my throat and my soul slaughtered. "I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as you're going to be," she snarls and I know she means it, which terrifies me more than anything because she knows exactly how to hurt me with nothing more than cruel words and apathy. And I don't know what she's planning as retaliation, but it must be something good because there's a fire of sick glee and determination in her eyes. Fine. Whatever it is, I'll endure it.

"Now get out so I can get dressed," she spits and I do, leaving her to plot and scheme all the ways she's going to damage me because now she hates me.

Doesn't matter. She can't hate me more than I hate myself.

I broke her God damn wrist, and I want to rip my own fucking heart out and just be done with it.

But I can't. I won't let her break me before I bring her back.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading guys, and make sure to follow because there will be another section to accompany this, including some good ol' smut and emotional upheaval. Please review, always love to hear your thoughts! Happy Reading!**

**-Goldnox**


	2. Knotted Truth

**A/N: Okay my dears, here is part 2! The response to this little story has been so heartwarming, thank you all so much for every view, every follow, ever review, and every fav. Each one is the best high-five, ever. Enjoy!**

**To the best beta ever Trogdor19: Troggy, you know you're my rock. What would I do without you?**

**Soundtrack for this chapter is starting with The Glitch Mob - Between Two Points, followed by an album runthru of Karen Marie Garrett - It's All About The Rose. Hope you check it out and hopefully enjoy!**

**/playlist?list=PLOuiEQUL4mBm9xk9Tz_JJg4ie1f2P6AQn**

* * *

**DAMON POV**

* * *

_**Knotted Truth**_

Five hours, forty-three minutes and not a damn word.

Won't talk to me, won't look at me, won't come within three feet of me. Yeah, she knows just how to hurt me.

I'm back in the bathroom of the suite where I've been for almost an hour, sitting on the floor with my head in my hands and desperately wishing I had something to drink. But I'm halfway thankful that all the alcohol I'm craving is on the other side of the locked door I don't have the balls to open, because getting drunk is only going to make this worse. And it won't be long before she starts wanting something a little warmer, a little fresher, and I won't have a choice then.

I don't even want blood, and that's a whole other level of fucked up. I know it's only going to make me feel better, and I don't want to.

I just want her to talk to me. But she won't.

At least she hasn't tried to leave. Yet.

I can hear her lying on the bed, exactly in the same spot she's been in since we got back. She's flipping through a magazine without a care in the world and acting like our whole life hasn't fallen apart. I guess for her it hasn't gotten any worse than it already was and she's numb to it all anyways.

I'm not. And I couldn't take sitting in there with her like that anymore, so I came in here so she wouldn't see that I'm not nearly as strong as she thinks I am, as I wish I was.

There's a burning ache in my chest that beats werewolf venom every day of the week, no contest, and I'm not breathing because if I do then she'll hear that I'm trembling. And I'm not crying because she'll smell the salt and she'll know. So I'm just sitting, silent and shaking.

She turns another page and lets out a bored sigh. She knows where I am, knows I'm hurting, and she couldn't care less and that's all at my doing.

It was never supposed to be like this.

I make myself get up and start the water for a bath because it's the only comfort I can allow myself at this point. I've been still too long and my muscles are sore from sitting on the tile floor, and I need to pull this shit together before the next round of "How else can I fuck up the one good thing I had in my life?"

I wait until it's prepared before I go to face her, ready to be ignored but hoping that I won't be.

I find her where I left her and even after everything, all the anger, the guilt, the threats, the frustration, she's still beautiful and adorable and I'm completely hers. She's resting on her stomach, her knees bent and feet swinging lazily as she flips a page with the hand that's not supporting her chin, her hair thrown up in a messy bun and one rogue strand framing her face.

She doesn't acknowledge me in any way as I kneel beside the bed so my face is level with hers. I didn't really expect anything different. But when I tuck the hair behind her ear she doesn't jerk or slap my hand away. That has to be a good sign.

"Come take a bath with me."

Silence, except for the turning of another page.

I try not to sigh my disappointment as I slowly close the magazine she's using to punish me, gently sliding it away from her and setting it on the floor. She finally looks at me, and it's irritation and annoyance but _not_ rage and _not _blind hate. I can work with that.

Her free hand is picking idly at the comforter, her wrist healed and perfect where I know it would be purple and blue if she were still human. I jerk my eyes away from it, choosing to watch her eyes instead as I wind my fingers through hers, carefully bringing them to my lips and placing a kiss on the back of her hand. Her scowl softens.

"Please?" I barely smile, letting her see the remorse in my eyes. "Tonight we'll do whatever you want, you name it. But you've had a long day, and you'll feel a lot better if you let me exchange your clothes for bubbles." I smirk and flare my eyes, praying that she'll take the opportunity of what I've denied her twice earlier so we can try to get past this. She never resists make-up sex, and I need to feel her, all of her, to know that she's okay. That we'll be okay.

Her eyes slightly narrow and I brace myself.

"Anything I want?"

"Yep," I say without hesitation. I can't afford for her to have the slightest doubt that I don't absolutely mean it.

"What if I want to kill?" She cocks her head at me, probably thinking I'll stop her. I won't, not anymore.

I'm barely hanging on to her by a thread and whatever it is she wants, I'll give it to her. We'll deal with the consequences later. I just need to keep her with me so _we_ can deal with them, and there's no guarantee she even wants to stay at this point.

"Whatever you want, whatever makes you happy."

I can see it all over her face. She knows I'm being honest and that if she's happy, that's what I'll be. She doesn't like that at all.

"What if I want to fuck somebody else?"

And there it is.

I feel my objections try to drop and my gums groan in protest, but I catch them in time before she sees. And it takes all my self-control not to let black veins stretch out across my cheeks, painting me for the liar she just made me. I know she's pushing me, trying to see how far she can go before I snap and I won't let her win. She'd probably do it now just to make her point, and I have no idea what the fuck to do.

After watching her with my brother and waiting for her for over a year, my possessiveness is admittedly a little out of control. She's finally mine, and I don't want to share her. It's hard enough not to kill all the men who are constantly staring at her ass. I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to tolerate them putting their mouths and hands and whatever else they want on her body.

I can't.

I won't.

The Ripper of Monterrey will have nothing on me.

"Is that what you want?" I say it calm, even, like I'd be able to stomach the fact that when she eventually came back I'd have to smell them on her. I can't let her know that I'm actually imagining all the ways to drag out their torture so they will never be able to look at her again, much less touch her.

"No," she says quick and sure, and it's like somebody just slapped all the air back into my body.

She doesn't know how to lie turned off. She doesn't need to, because she doesn't care, and her truth is that she still doesn't want anyone else. Somewhere in there, buried deep beneath the cold detachment, she may _actually _love me. She just doesn't remember what it feels like, but I do.

"So how about that bath?" I smile, because I can't help it. Hope is too powerful to be denied.

I get the "Whatever, Damon" eye roll she's patented in the last week, but I don't even care because she's pushing herself up with her other hand and getting off the bed to join me. I stand with her, following her into the bathroom as she strips off her shirt and bra and tosses them on the floor and I fling my shirt on top of hers. I'll pick it all up later, none of that shit matters now. She's right in front of me, and she doesn't want to leave. I don't care about anything else.

I stay behind her as she stills in front of the large Gobi bathtub* and unbuttons her jeans, quiet and blank and lost in her own thoughts or lack thereof. I don't want to startle her, especially after what happened today, so I tickle my nails from the tops of her shoulders all the way down her arms until our fingers are braided together, gently stopping her.

She falls back into my hold like it's the most natural thing in the world, and it is. Her back to my chest, skin against skin, this is her home even when she's absent and lost. I feel the shift as she fully leans her weight against me with no fear, just an innate trust that I'll catch her, support her. I will.

I lay my lips to her temple and her hands give way to mine, not resisting as I untangle them so I can unzip her jeans. She's still as I undress her, sliding the clothes that aren't hers slowly down her legs; steadying her as she steps out from them and into the water I drew for us.

I smile as she sinks into the middle of the tub, leaving enough space for me behind her. Even though I asked her to join me I wouldn't have been surprised if she decided she'd rather be alone. But she's inviting me to be with her, and the warmth radiating from the water can't touch what's seeping through my chest.

"You coming, Stud? Or you gonna stand there all night and stare at me?"

I can't help but chuckle as I remove my pants, not missing the way her eyes are hungrily taking me in. I've been marveled at enough that there's no way I could ever have confidence issues about my body, but when _she_ looks at me like that…it does dangerous things to my ego.

I slip into the water as she wraps her arms around her knees, bringing them to her chest. I'm caught a little off guard at realizing that from our near-daily baths she knows exactly how to leave plenty of room so my legs can find their place on either side of hers. It hasn't been long but we already have a rhythm, somewhere crossing the line from hesitant first steps into our own private dance of intimacy.

She rests her head against her legs with a contented sigh, staying curled into herself as my hands tenderly roam over her, lightly massaging my way up her spine and to her shoulders. I frown as I uncover tension that shouldn't be there, instantly adjusting to use just enough pressure to begin working out the hidden knots I find. Her body can't hide reality, confirming signs of the emotional weight her mind and heart are burying at my insistence.

I take my time working over every inch of her back and her breathing becomes deeper, more relaxed, her heartbeat slowing as she melts under my touch. I focus purely on her movements as she shifts and stretches, unconsciously directing me to where she needs me to heal her. There's much more stress under her skin than I'm comfortable with, but before long I ease it all and her physical peace brings mine along with it.

She's so quiet and still as I finish that I wonder if she may have fallen asleep, but when I lean forward to fully wrap her in my arms she sighs in a way that speaks of serenity.

"Better?" I whisper, dropping a kiss on her shoulder.

She nods lazily, but her pulse spiked as my lips met her skin and there are goosebumps rising where my breath is caressing her. It's so simple, but her reactions have always been the calling card for how she feels for me and I _need_ that speed, even more than her words.

I smile and kiss her again, teasing her with a light touch of my tongue. I'm rewarded with another burst of momentum and a sharp intake of breath, her hips rocking back to press further into me. Something softens in my chest as I harden below because even after everything, she's still asking.

We're going to be fine.

I guide her arms to release her legs, leaning us both back so we're fully stretched out with her head tilting against my shoulder. My mouth greets her neck, ravenously absorbing the swiftness of the blood racing under her unbroken skin and her hands lead me, laying over mine to cup and caress her breasts, rolling her nipples between our fingers as we explore her, together.

She releases me to wrap one arm around my neck, the other gripping the edge of the tub so I have free reign over her. I let one of my hands drift down her stomach, sliding over slick and soft skin and stroking the top of her thigh. I know I'm welcome as she parts her legs further, opening herself up to me and moaning in impatience.

I'm careful with my touch, walking two fingers back down her until I'm hovering where I know she wants me, where I want to be. I dip down, using just the tips to nudge her apart so I'm holding her exposed and untouched, the hot water lapping against her.

She squirms against me with her hand on my neck moving to my wrist, urging me closer and silently asking me to touch her. I love that she still fights to set the pace, always in a rush to feel the euphoria she knows I'm going to bring her and forgetting that I'm not some bumbling kid who she needs to direct. I pinch her nipple in warning and bite her neck with blunt teeth, drawing a gasp out of her.

I know how to take care of my girl.

I shift the placement of my hand so I'm still holding her open, but freeing my middle finger to slide over her in one slow pass, lifting away just before I reach her clit. Even in the water I can feel her want for me, silky and warm, pure and honest desire. My mouth dries in envy.

"Damon…" she moans, and my name on her lips is pure sex. I'll do everything in my power to make sure it stays there as long as I'm alive, pulling it from her in breathy pants and uncontrollable screams.

I know I'm driving her crazy by not fully touching her, and I want to feel her just as much as I know she wants me to. But I also know after dangling it in front of her, her orgasm will be that much more fulfilling when I finally let her reach it.

It's my favorite game, and I always win.

I drag my finger across the crest of one of her lower lips, as far away from her as I dare to go.

"Here?" I whisper.

She shakes her head at me, shifting closer and straining but it's no use. No matter how much she moves, she's only going to get what I choose to give her.

"Here?" I tease, stroking her again closer to her center but still not where she wants me.

She whimpers and I can't help but chuckle. She doesn't stand a chance.

"What about…_here_," I rumble, tapping her clit once with the smallest touch I can manage.

Her whole body jerks at the contact, shuddering with sensitivity.

She nods against my shoulder as she recovers, her eyes closed and cheeks flush.

"Where?" I ask innocently.

"There…"

"No, I don't think so," I say seriously, and she grumbles and pouts. Right where I want her.

"Here," I growl and plunge two fingers into her, curling them into the spot that always makes her scream.

She doesn't disappoint, her yell a delicious mixture of a curse and my name.

"And here," I tell her, pressing my thumb into her clit.

Her back arches off me as far as she can, but she doesn't get far. My other arm is holding her to me and teasing her nipples, propelling every sensation to its peak while she pulses in harmony with my strokes.

I let her ride her climax as long as she can, greedily wanting every second of her pleasure that I can get her to give to me. When she can't take anymore I slip out of her but I know she's not done. Not by far.

She proves me right, not even taking a moment to catch her breath before she turns and sinks herself down on to me. I can't think to control the veins taking my eyes as I fill her, my groan at how warm and tight she is slicing over my descended fangs.

She kisses me and it's sharp, blood dripping between us as her teeth cut into my lips and mine into hers. I taste her and it's life and death, our complicated pairing that now flows through her veins. I can sense her compassion from when she was human and my instinct to kill, her penchant for forgiveness and mine to distrust. She is both of us, a glorious contradiction blended together and no matter how often I taste her I'm still possessed.

I've never tasted anything more perfect.

She releases my lips and arches back, riding me slow and hard and using the full force of her hips to grind against me. I meet her every thrust, squeezing her waist and up her back until I have her shoulders under my hands to anchor her to me; wrenching her down as I drive up into her.

I know she wants me harder, deeper, to give her every inch I have. I'm happy to obey, my dick hungry and demanding as I push up into her, finding the edge of what she can allow and stretching her further.

She gasps and trembles under the force, her walls contracting as a single wave ripples through her. My swollen head throbs in her grip and I can already feel the familiar tightness brewing in my stomach, but as much as I want to release into her, I'm not ready yet. I need to feel her come over me first.

I lean forward to take her nipple into my mouth, sucking and nipping until it hardens even further over my tongue. She moans my name and I know what she wants, not teasing or denying as I sink my fangs into the soft flesh of her breast and giving us what we both need.

Her blood spills into my mouth as her warmth coats my cock, pulling her orgasm from her everywhere I can. Her screams are beautiful, unfiltered bliss, the wondrous forfeit of control. I'm plunged into silence as I feel two unexpected stabs of pain in my palm, the pressure bending into pleasure as her mouth sucks the blood from my hand.

My hips lurch and a grunt escapes my lips, pumping heat as far into her as I can. She takes my orgasm as selfishly as I did hers, and I want to come in her forever; filling her with my scent and irrevocably designating her as mine.

I fall back dizzy and exhausted and she comes with me, both of us still and sated and struggling to breathe.

I don't know how we're not sinking to the bottom of the tub because even though I know I have bones under my skin, I think they may have dissolved. I can only listen as my racing heart sloshes blood through my veins.

I know I should probably get us to the bed so we can sleep, but I don't even have the strength to reposition her so she's more comfortable, let alone carry her.

Fuck it, we can pass out in the water. I won't risk dropping her.

She nuzzles my neck and I'm safe, her nose tickling me as she blesses me with languid kisses to my throat and jaw. I return the comfort she's giving me with my fingers drawing random patterns on her back as I hold her to me. She shivers at first, her awareness to my touch on overdrive but I know she likes it and I need to feel her; her skin my much needed cigarette and silkier than any sheets.

I realize her hair is still in a messy bun and it has to be uncomfortable, too much pressure sitting at one point for her to fully relax. As gently as possible I let it down, combing my fingers through it but it's tangled with knots. I'll wash it once I regain some semblance of composure, but for now it's the perfect excuse not to move. If I don't get them out first it'll just be worse afterwards, no matter how much conditioner I use.

"Damon?" she mumbles as I free the first few strands.

"Hmm?"

"Do you love me?"

"Very much," I tell her before I can stop myself. I'm so cozy and unguarded I'd probably recite sonnets if she wanted.

But I know I should be careful and I have been, not saying the words to her since before we went to that wretched island. We weren't in the best place during that trip and it hasn't been appropriate with everything that's happened since. I know she can't feel and I'm not about to tell her just to have her say that she doesn't care. I've already heard that too many times in the past.

She's not saying anything at my admission and I should let it go at that, but I just can't.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I don't understand..."

"Understand what?" I probe as I start on another knot.

"Why you made me turn my emotions off."

My hands still with my heart. I really don't want to go there with her, especially right now. It's a complicated and dangerous conversation that we still haven't had, and all I want to do is lay here in post-orgasmic bliss and play with her hair, not remind her of all the horrible things that drove me to that.

I'd also prefer to avoid being yelled at, because I'm sure she thinks me using the sire bond was just as bad as any compulsion, and she was more than pissed when she found out that I had manipulated her memories.

I resume my attempts to untangle her hair, and try to find the gentlest way to say it.

"Because you were in a lot of pain," I murmur, venturing as far as I'll go towards Jeremy's name.

"I'm not anymore though," she says honestly.

"I know."

I don't want her to be hurting, and I'm glad she's not, but it's bittersweet. I wish I had been strong enough to endure her anguish, but I wasn't and her screams from that night will haunt me forever. I needed it to stop and I had to help her in the only way I could think to do.

I'll never know if it was the right decision.

"I don't feel anything, Damon…"

I don't say anything, because I know what she's saying. She doesn't love me now, because she can't. My hands start to shake but I don't want her to know, so I keep them in her hair, focusing on the one thing I can fix that doesn't cause her pain.

"You knew that would happen? That it would all go away?"

"Yes," I say quietly.

"Doesn't it hurt?" she asks, sounding curious, but not quite concerned.

I don't reply. This is exactly why I've been avoiding this conversation. She doesn't need to know just how much it does. It doesn't matter, not to her, so why say it? There's no point.

"You said that it would make you happy, if I couldn't feel."

"So you weren't hurting, Elena…"

"But you are."

I won't lie to her, so I don't; just finishing my task as the last of the knots becomes undone.

"You're not happy," she states, pulling back to look at me.

I take her face in my hands, kissing her once slow and soft before I rest my forehead against hers.

"Right now, in this tub with you next to me, I'm very happy." It's the truth, though only part of it. I hope she doesn't notice.

She leans back a little, cocking her head as she studies me. I smile at her, but it feels false and I know I'm failing to make her believe me. Her hands tenderly touch my face, her brow furrowing like she can feel the stress I've been able to see in the corners of my eyes.

I cover her hands with mine, bringing them down to lay them on my chest between us.

"I just got laid and free dinner. What more could I want?" I try to smile again, but it still feels wrong.

"You're lying," she tells me and I wish I wouldn't have moved her hands because now she'll be able to feel how fast my pulse just started to race.

She doesn't miss a thing, sliding her gaze and right hand so they're right above my heart, holding them there as she listens to the truth I won't say.

"Elena…" I start, but I don't know what to tell her.

She looks back at me, and there's the blankness that I've come to know and expect. Not the fire I fell in love with.

I watch her, waiting for her to yell or hit me because she knows I've been lying, but she doesn't speak.

The silence is deafening, my racing pulse and her even heartbeat echoing through my ears.

Without warning hers thuds out of rhythm, speeding up with such intensity that it bypasses mine.

He eyes flare in shock, and the indifference that I put there is overcome with life, like color bleeding into black and white.

"Elena?"

Her chest is heaving, and I'm not sure what I'm seeing. She can't have, it's not possible…

"Damon," she whimpers, and a tear rolls down her cheek.

"You're okay, I'm right here," I rush out, taking her face in my hands because I only have seconds before she crumbles.

She nods and she's shaking, tears streaming faster and her skin paling in defeat to the onslaught that's hitting her.

"I'm so sorry," she mutters and I'm panicking. I don't know what she's apologizing for, what she may ask me to do. I won't be able to use the bond to turn her off again. The lie I'll need won't hold a second time now that she knows the truth.

"Please don't make me turn it off," she whispers.

A sob bursts out of her, but it's strangled.

Then another. Louder, harsher, her eyes pinching closed and her nails cutting into my chest.

And then she starts to scream.

* * *

"Breathe honey, I need you to breathe…"

"I…can't," she chokes out and throws up again.

She screamed for an hour before she started getting sick, and it hasn't stopped since. Her body so ravaged with grief it's tearing her apart from the inside out.

I re-gather her hair, collecting the few strands that have come loose and holding it back as I lay a wet towel on her neck. I hear the groan of the porcelain cracking under her grip as she clings to the toilet, and she's been empty for almost half an hour but she's still heaving uncontrollably.

Her muscles unclench as she finishes and I catch her before she collapses, leaning her back against me and pressing the cloth to her face.

"I've got you. You're okay…"

"He's dead…they're all dead…" she mumbles and lurches forward again.

* * *

"This is your fault!" she bellows and hurls the clock at my head. I dodge it, but wince as it shatters against the wall behind me.

"Pfft, where have you been? Haven't you seen my memoir? It's titled _Damon Salvatore: Kicking Ass and Ruining Lives Since 1864._"

I didn't expect her to turn on me so fast. After she finally stopped getting sick, I moved us to the bed and held her in my arms as she cried for another two hours. She eventually calmed down, and when she sat up and turned around I didn't quite know what to expect.

It wasn't for her to slap the ever living fuck out of me.

All the things she's been burying are hitting her in endless waves, and I know she can't begin to control what she's feeling. She's blind with rage, but I'll endure it as long as she doesn't turn on herself. She'll run out of stuff to throw at me eventually and I need her to get it all out. I can't go through this again.

I'm doing a pretty good job of acting like I'm blowing all this shit off, which is not easy when she's been steadily blaming me for everything bad that's happened in her life.

Ever.

Not saving her parents from dying when she knew I was close by.

All the people I've killed since I've come to town. And those that I didn't, but still died anyways as a result of my actions.

Being a wedge between her and her friends.

Stefan abandoning her to save me and me deserting him. Not teaching him control and blaming him for Katherine.

Her turning into a vampire.

Jeremy.

"You were supposed to protect him!" She accuses me with the shattering of another lamp at my feet.

"I fucking tried, Elena…"

"Stop lying! You always wanted him dead! You killed him!"

Her voice is screeching and cracking, completely hysterical as she grabs a chair and swings it at me like a baseball bat.

I blur out of the way at the last second, letting it explode against the wall.

"Coward!" she shouts and whips around to find me on the other side of the room.

"See, I have this thing about cheerleaders and chairs. It's one thing if you wanna give me a lap dance…"

"I hate you," she spits at me and I steel myself against her.

"Stefan teach you 'The Small World' song too?"

_She's not thinking clearly, and she doesn't mean anything she's saying. _

_She's out of control, and you can't listen. _

_You can't. _

_She loves you. _

_In some way, she loves you._

She growls and blurs towards me, brandishing a piece of the wooden chair she broke.

I dodge around behind her, older and faster and undistracted by tears and fury. I lock my arms down over hers, pulling her back into me and slapping the make-shift stake from her hand.

"Easy with that toothpick, sweetheart. It's all fun and games until somebody loses an eye."

"Let go of me!"

"Why would I do that? You know how I feel about bondage."

She fights and squirms, using all her strength to try to wrestle free.

"Do me a favor and remind me when we get home to up the weight on your bench-press."

She kicks back and takes out my knee just like I showed her, causing me to buckle for a fraction of a moment. It's all the opening she needs, snapping her head back to connect with mine but I move just in time to avoid her. I've trained her well, but I also know her moves, and she's not going to win this round.

"I don't need a stake, I'll just rip your heart out!"

"But your nails! What would Caroline say?" I taunt her because I'm losing my patience.

She hits me with an elbow, knocking the breath out of me. She goes for my other knee and I step back out of the way. I don't wait for her to steady herself before I sweep her feet out from under her.

I keep my grip on her as we crash to the floor, landing on my back to break her fall. She's facing the ceiling on top of me, still struggling even with my legs wrapped around her; growling and snarling and cursing at me.

She throws her head back once more and I have nowhere to go, the top of her head connecting fully with my jaw. She caught me with enough force that I'm actually a little dazed, which makes me oddly proud and crazy furious at the same time.

My grip loosened at the hit and she has an arm free, scrabbling for a nearby chunk of wood that is thankfully out of her reach.

This has gone far enough.

"I'm sorry," I whisper before I snap her neck.

* * *

I glance out the windows past the ripped curtains and survey the skyline.

The sun will be up soon.

I'm so comfortable and so exhausted and I want to go to sleep more than anything.

But I can't.

I'm stretched out on the bed, sitting up against the pillows and I have a peaceful Elena in my arms. It would be the perfect time to drift off, if she wasn't temporarily dead.

I have her against me with my arms and legs still over hers, ready to lock her down in case I need to restrain her again. And her head is on my chest, but far enough away that she won't be able to head-butt me if she tries.

We've laid like this more than a few times, especially at night when she can't sleep, but usually I'm reading to her and she's not recovering from a broken neck. I don't have any books with us, and I can't risk not keeping a grip on both of her arms anyways. So instead I'm listening for her heart to start pumping again and holding our woven fingers to her chest, wondering what version of her is going to wake up.

I wonder if-

"Where am I?" she gasps, her eyes suddenly popping open and trying to sit up; her voice rough from screaming.

"You're safe, Elena. You're with me, and you're safe," I say as quickly as possible, but not releasing her.

She relaxes with a sigh and stops struggling, and I'm so glad she's not screaming yet. I just need five minutes of her awake and not crying or trying to kill me so I can try and make it through the next round. It's going to take a while for her to work through all that emotion, and one night is just the beginning of all that's ahead of us.

But she can feel.

I remember what it was like when I let my humanity back in, and it's all the bad at first. Anger, grief, devastating guilt. It takes a while to get to the good parts.

But I was off for years, and I still found it.

And I know it's going to take some time, but she'll find hers again too. At least now we can find them together.

I smile as I watch her turn her head, nuzzling her cheek against me and taking a deep breath. She's confirming my scent. She does the same thing in her sleep, shifting closer and inhaling, then melting into me. I know it has to be disorienting for her because she can't see my face and we're not at home, but I love that my smell is enough to bring her a sense of security.

I wait and listen to her pulse while she breathes, knowing soon the memories will start to come back. It takes a minute after you wake up to recall how and who killed you, and I don't really want to think about how mad she's going to be once she realizes what happened. I just want to hold her and if I'm really lucky, sleep. I know she needs it too, especially after all that crying.

"Try to get some rest," I whisper, knowing that it's probably a lost cause. But still, I have to try.

"What time is it?"

"It's almost dawn," I answer because she actually broke all the clocks in the room and I don't know where my phone is to check. It's probably in pieces somewhere, a casualty of her outburst.

"The room…" she mumbles, surveying the damage.

"Doesn't matter, I'll take care of it," I assure her because I will and I don't care. I'm probably going to have to compel the manager not to call the cops when they check it, but it's fine. It's not the first time I've left a place a little worse for the wear and she doesn't need to worry.

"You snapped my neck," she whispers, sounding a little surprised, but not angry.

I don't want to think about it and I hope I never have to do that again because nothing has ever felt so wrong. I don't really understand why she's not more upset about it, but it's probably just the shock. I'll apologize when she's more stable, and I didn't have a choice, but right now I'm not even going to try to make excuses for doing that to her.

"Yes, I did."

"I…I tried to stake you…"

"Happens," I say lightly with a gentle squeeze so she knows I'm not mad. I still haven't released her, but she's not fighting my hold either, seemingly happy to be close.

"Damon?" she quivers and just like that, I know it's starting again.

"If I let you go are you going to try to kill me?" I ask quickly before she breaks.

She shakes her head no and I probably should be a little more cautious, but I need to try and keep her calm and to do that I need her closer.

I unlock my legs and arms, and before I can help her she's scampering up my body, straddling my hips with her arms wound around my neck.

"Damon, I'm so sorry," she whimpers and small sob trickles out. "I didn't mean it and it's not your fault it just hurts and it's too much and I just couldn't think I was so mad-"

"Shh, it's okay, Elena," I sooth, hugging her back. "Everything is going to be fine, I promise."

"You can't promise that…" she sniffles, but she's not full out crying.

"Sure I can," I tell her, shifting us so I can leave a kiss on her forehead. "No matter what it always works out in the end, and nothing you or I do will change that. We can't, so try not to worry."

Her shoulders shake a bit as she sniffles again, but I think she may actually be laughing just a touch. I pull back so I can see her, brushing her hair away from her face. Her eyes are red and her cheeks are wet, but she smiles and God help me, it's a real one.

"Something funny?" I smile back.

"Nothing," she shakes her head and shrugs. "It's just…you're still a fatalist."

I actually laugh with her for the first time in what feels like years. The weight and stress of past weeks disappearing at the singular knowledge that she's still here with me and it's exactly where she wants to be. I don't need to know anything else.

"Honey, some things never change."

She moves a hand to my cheek, her face glowing in the first light of the new day. And I don't know what I've ever done to deserve the love in her eyes, but it's there and a part of me knows that no matter what lies ahead in our future, it will remain to be.

"Some things do," she says softly and as long as I live, I will never forget this moment.

I cover her hand with mine, bringing it to my lips and placing a gentle kiss to her palm before laying it over my heart.

"Yes," I smile back, "some do."

* * *

_FIN_

* * *

_*Gobi bathtub: free standing, rectangular shaped bathtub made of white Cristal Plant._

* * *

**A/N: Thanks so much for reading! You guys are the best and I'll admit I can't wait to hear your thoughts, so please review. Even a simple word is so meaningful. Don't underestimate it, because every one matters. Truly. Thanks again, and Happy Reading!**

**-Goldnox**


End file.
